Essere Innamorati
by george's firework
Summary: She was his and he was hers, but neither of them belonged to those they wanted to belong to - and so they found comfort in each other.


She stood in the seventh floor corridor, facing the blank wall opposite the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy attempting to teach trolls to do ballet. As she stared at the wall a small but intricate oak door appeared, surrounded by twists of ivy and calla lilies. A small smile appeared on her face at the flowers – he knew her so well. She paused to smell one of the flowers before silently opening the door so she could let the music flow over her.

He was sitting at the piano with his back to the door, his fingers dancing furiously over the keys as he made the keys sing out the melody of Questa Notte by Ludovico Einaudi. She sighed softy as she noticed the tension in his shoulders and the way his fingers were hitting the keys rather harshly. He was angry.

"I thought you weren't coming." His voice broke her out of her reverie and she focused her eyes again, noting that he hadn't turned around. She took delicate steps and sank down onto the piano stool beside him, leaning into the warmth of his side. He hesitated, and then stopped playing so he could pull her onto his lap.

"What's wrong?" She asked him quietly as he buried his head in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. He was shaking, an unusual action for him, and she frowned as she gently played with the soft hair just above his collar. Music usually calmed him down when he was angry but today it clearly had not worked.

"I saw them together today," he mumbled, his lips vibrating against the delicate skin beneath her ear as he spoke. She shivered slightly. "I'm sure you did too, which is why you agreed to come here, isn't it?" She stiffened against him then, having been reminded of why she had actually kept to her promise of meeting him.

"Yes," she whispered after a long moment of silence. "Yes, I saw them." It hurt her to admit just how much she needed his touch then, to keep her from doing grievous harm to herself.

There was another long moment of silence as she breathed in his comforting scent and he did the same to her, whilst whispering various things into the skin of her neck – mostly about the couple they both hated so, and yet loved at the same time.

"He doesn't deserve a friend like you," he whispered, "especially not when he hurts you so much and doesn't seem to care… He doesn't deserve you… And she doesn't deserve me, not after all I did for her… I was so kind to her… I was the only one who didn't care she was a Gryffindor… I don't care about House differences… She told me she didn't, either…" His whispers became breaths upon her skin, and then just nothing but his mouth still moved, lavishing gentle attention on the sensitive spot beneath her ear that he loved so.

She tipped her head back slightly, allowing him better access as a breathy sigh left her throat. His hand came up and twined into her soft curls; pulling her head back, but closer at the same time.

"Why were you so late?" He murmured against her jaw, placing soft, light kisses up and down the delicate bone. When she didn't answer, he paused and looked up from her beneath his eyelashes. "Love, why were you so late?" He persisted when she didn't open her eyes to look down and see why he had stopped. She sniffed lightly and turned her face away, burying it in his shoulder. He leaned his head closer to hers.

"What did you say?" He murmured curiously, trying to pick up her continued mutters. She sniffed again and pulled away from his shoulder, her brown eyes searching his deep blue ones.

"You always say how he doesn't deserve me, and how she doesn't deserve you, but what about me and whether I deserve you or not?" She whispered timidly. "Or you, and whether you deserve me or not? You always say that you don't mind that she's in Gryffindor, but you never mention anything about me. Do you care that I'm in Gryffindor? Do you care that I'm muggleborn?" Her whispers were getting louder.

"No, of course-" She cut him off.

"Do you care for me at all?" She asked fiercely, leaning away from him slightly which was a difficult feat given that she was in his lap.

"Of course I-"

"Do you love me?"

There was a long moment of silence in which she gazed intently at him, and he stared back with a look of complete shock on his face. He broke the stare first and glanced away, turning his head to the side so he was examining the floor closely. Finally, a single word broke the silence.

"No," he breathed, lifting his eyes from the floor so he could gauge her reaction. She blinked suddenly, her eyes filling, and looked away.

"No," she repeated, her voice giving away the devastation she was currently feeling. Gently he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and raised her face so he could look into her eyes.

"You know very well that I don't love you," he said softly, a slight hint of scolding in his tone. "You're perfectly aware that this entire relationship began because we found a common hatred in that sickening couple – you because you're in love with him, and I because she was once mine. And from that we formed an unlikely bond; a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, a pureblood and a muggleborn. We both took comfort from each other and promised each other at the beginning that it was nothing more than that. Yet, here you are now, asking if in fact it is more than that. It could be, love, but not until we're both over the person we came to each other to get away from in the first place anyway."

With that he twined his fingers back into her hair and went back to kissing her neck as if nothing had happened at all. She sighed and pushed herself closer to him, needing his lips to erase her memories – both of the sickening couple and of his rejection of her feelings.

He gently pulled one of his hands from her hair and let it drift down to settle on her hip so he could pull her even closer as he kissed up her neck, down her jaw, and eventually drifted across to attack her lips. She pulled away with a wild gasp when they ran out of air, and began to kiss down his strong jaw as her fingers worked to pull his tie off. The piano disappeared and the stool they were perched on turned into a large, comfortable bed which they toppled onto, locked in a passionate embrace.

"La mia bellezza... La mia amore..." he whispered tenderly to her as they undressed each other, his voice lilting with a slight Italian accent. "Vorrei poter essere innamorato di te..." he murmured and she took comfort in his soft, deep voice.

For that was what they did. For she was his Hermione, and he was her Blaise, and together they took comfort in the fact that they would always have each other, when they didn't have the ones they so wanted.


End file.
